


Daffodils in Winter

by theoneandonlylittlebird



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Humor, RSS, Rumbelle Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17125139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneandonlylittlebird/pseuds/theoneandonlylittlebird
Summary: Belle French's tacky and over-the-top lawn ornaments try Mr. Gold's patience and he is determined to give her a piece of his mind until he finds out the motivation behind said eyesores and tries a different approach.





	Daffodils in Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WorryinglyInnocent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorryinglyInnocent/gifts).



> Merry Rumbelle Christmas, WorryinglyInnocent!!! It has been my joy to be your Santa this year. I had a blast with your prompt and I do hope I did it justice. Full confessions, I know next to nothing about knitting and only a little bit about spinning and have an appalling tendency to make up whatever I don't know without bothering with research. *bad Santa!* LOL. This story is inspired by a scene I witnessed in my own neighborhood and knew would fit your gift perfectly. I'm sorry, but as I value my status as a tolerated person in my neighborhood, I didn't photograph the actual evidence. However!! The tumblr post of your gift (same username) includes a photo brought to you by the internet which seemed just perfect. Worry, it has been a pleasure and an honor to be your Santa. I hope this brings some warmth and brightness to you this Christmas.

The sun had set between the time he’d stepped into the embrace of hot steam in his shower and the time he’d toweled off and swathed himself in his pajamas and robe. It set early this time of year this far north so even though he’d arrived home in the afternoon, darkness was already approaching when he pulled into the driveway after a long visit to New York.

Gold’s son Brian and his wife Emma had just welcomed their first child into the world. Nothing, he thought, could intrude on the quiet warm satisfaction of having finally revived a dead relationship with his son. Little Henry was a perfect baby: crying, wet, poopy, barfy and never asleep, so Gold’s assistance had actually been valuable to the new parents since he knew a few things about soothing a newborn. Gold wanted to think Brian wanted him around for more than just his babysitting skills, and somewhere deep he knew that was true, but after a decade of icy relations which he justly deserved, doubt remained.

Brian had accepted his apologies, had been the bigger man saying that he couldn’t be the kind of father Henry deserved if he couldn’t even have a relationship with his own father. More generous than Gold deserved, but Brian was the better man. Even at the tender age of eighteen.

And so, warm and comforted by the hot water and the restoration of his family, Gold stepped out into what should have been his darkened bedroom.

But lights played on his curtains, flashing and moving in all differs colors turning his sanctuary into a mesmerizing disco. He hadn’t touched mushrooms since college, so that was out, but could those cause flashbacks later in life? He couldn’t remember.

Gold shook himself. A more mundane explanation for the relentless kaleidoscope only required him to flick aside the filmy curtains and look across the street.

His new tenant and been busy. Very busy.

Her entire yard was festooned with Christmas decorations.

There were illuminated inflatables including clearly enslaved toy-making elves, a snow-globe, and even a preposterously fat Santa whose gut jiggled with variable air pressure in a rather revolting belly dance. Animatronic reindeer bobbed their heads up and down and one with an enormous red nose seemed to scan the entire dazzling cluster fuck from its aloof perch at the edge of her roof. Behind that reindeer was of course a sleigh whose outline was a dizzying river of sequential lights chasing each other in a psychedelic river. The bloody presents each flashed in blocks of sudden color one after another.

That was when he heard it. Worse than all of that were the snowmen. There were three of the jolly monstrosities dancing in time to the carol they were “singing.” He could just hear it inside his house. And it was an annoying grocery-store pop number. It might have actually been worse if had been a bastardization of the truly decent Christmas music favored by professional choirs who were just as sick of the top twenty carols on the radio as everyone else.

His face hit the cool glass and smushed his nose as he groaned aloud.

She had arrived in town to take on the new librarian position just days before his month-long visit to his son’s family had begun, so he had only met her briefly to sign the lease and give her her keys. The sparkling eyes and kind smile had effectively hidden the demon within.

Had he detected even a hint of this, he’d have never rented any of his properties to her.

Now he was faced with the uncomfortable realization that even his precisely worded lease didn’t protect him from this kind of abuse. 

With a groan, Mr. Gold turned away from the window, pulled the heavier over-drapes to, and resolved that he’d resort to taping foil to his window if it came to that. Anything for a quiet, dark, peaceful bedroom.

Hours later, after having carefully recrafted his standard rental agreement, he returned to the disrupted sanctuary of his bedroom. As his body began to warm the bed, the diabolical snowmen from hell started afresh: “Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock...”

He was so fucked.

***

After a rockin’ night of no sleep, Gold stormed across the street to the library as soon as he saw the lights flood the building one after another. Having given up sleep after the twenty-fifth repetition, he counted, Gold had flung himself out of bed to study the City of Storybrooke noise ordinances. That hadn’t taken anywhere near long enough to provide a satisfactory stoking of his ire.

No, what he had needed had been simple and easy to find. Noise extending beyond seventy five feet from the house was prohibited after ten o’clock at night. He’d printed, and highlighted for good measure, the document, put it in an envelope, marched it across the street and shoved it under the door.

He had in his coat pocket this morning a written request to enter the premises and evaluate the electrical situation. In case she burned the place to the ground by plugging in one more daisy-chained, power stripped, flashing lawn turd.

Gold yanked open the door of the building but the door almost hit him in the backside because he stopped dead just inside.

The little librarian was there, of course, but she was huddled up in a California version of a winter coat, shivering, and crying where she leaned against the circulation desk. She rocked in time with her sniffles and she hadn’t seen him yet.

“Miss French?” His voice was soft, gentler than he would have ever expected.

She startled anyway and stumbled away from the edge of the desk on her ridiculous heels.

Hastily swiping at her face she said, “Good morning, Mr. Gold, how may I help you?”

“Uh,” he said eloquently, “um. I just came by to see how you’re settling into Storybrooke, since I’ve been away since you arrived last month.” He crossed the room to her and stood, probably, too close, to look her in the eyes.

The shining blue pools that looked up at him nearly took his breath away. He felt hot under the collar.

“Well, I thought about lying to you,” she said after a long silence, “but what’s the point? I’m freezing my Australian bum off, I’m all alone, and my father can’t make it out here before Christmas. But thanks for asking.”

Oddly, the last sentence sounded the most sincere of the whole lot.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again before deciding he actually did need to make words and knowing which ones, sort of. “In my shop, there’s tea, and cups and I could make you some. Would have some company and be warm for a little while, even if you have to put up with me to get it.”

Smooth. Could he help it if she’d put a spell him with those tear-filled eyes?

She blinked rapidly. “Um. Yes. That would be lovely, you don’t mind?”

“I haven’t had my morning cup yet and it’s no trouble to make enough for two.” Besides, he had some orange spice sponge tea cakes left and a spot of cheese she might like.

“Ok,” she peered at him shyly under her lashes and he gave her a shaky half-smile.

Five minutes later the tea was brewing in the back of his shop while he showed her around. Belle asked after everything that caught her eye. Inquisitive and bright, he found himself hanging on her every smile and doing whatever he could think of to cause just one more curve of her lips.

When the tea kettle whistled, he ushered her through the curtain to his inner sanctum without hesitation and seated her at his workbench among his unfinished treasures. He felt a surge of tingling pleasure when he set a steaming cup before her and settled the tea snacks between them.

“You said you felt alone, Miss French, may I ask why?” It took him several sips of fragrant tea to find the nerve to ask.

“Because this is the first social offer anyone has made me since I got here.” She frowned seemingly embarrassed by her own bluntness.

“Oh, I should have guessed,” he demurred politely, “Small towns can be like that, especially this one.” He hesitated, letting the silence stretch. “If you like, you can come here regularly for tea. I’ve no shortage.”

Her eyes flew up to his like he’d thrown her a rope. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Mind? I asked out of pure selfishness, I assure you, Miss French.” Apparently he was being honest now as well as desperate. Two certainly attractive qualities to women twenty years his junior about which he had absolutely no business entertaining such thoughts.

“Oh,” she murmured into her cup with a small smile, “in that case, I’d rather like that.”

He smiled into his own tea and the deliberately cast his eyes around the room to avoid staring at her. They landed on a grey winter overcoat. An actual coat. As opposed to the imposter she currently wore of nothing sterner than cotton batting. As if a thin quilt would protect her from the howling winters in Maine. She probably didn’t know better and had no idea that worse than the current few inches of snow were coming as winter settled in.

Mind made up, he rose. “Miss French, I believe I have something which might interest you.”

He retrieved the heavy wool and cashmere blend coat testing the heft of it with satisfaction.

“You have many things which interest me, Mr. Gold, but I don’t think I can afford anything in your shop.” She sounded embarrassed having not even turned to face him.

He sighed. “Pricing is my responsibility, not yours, Miss French. Now, if you please.”

She sighed but turned around. Her eyes widened at the sight of he pearly grey coat with it’s shiny lining and crisply tailored lines.

“Oh,” she said reaching out to finger a soft cuff, “That is lovely, and so classy.”

“I thought you might like it, now let me see you try it on.” He used as much authority as he dared not intending to give her the option to refuse him. “Come on, now.”

He’d have coaxed more if he had to, but he didn’t because she slid her sadly inadequate garment off and laid it aside. Gold stepped in close behind her to help her into the coat. This afforded him a lovely whiff of her shampoo and her own soft warm scent. His hands began fussing over the fit and lay of the garment once he had it on her shoulders. It fit remarkably well and suited her petite frame. Perfect, he thought, entirely pleased with himself.

With gentle hands he turned her to face him so he could admire his handiwork and too large eyes stared up at him questioningly.

“How does it feel?” he whispered adjusting the shoulders and sleeves from the front.

“Like it should be too heavy, but is actually just right. And it feels so warm already.” She murmured this as she ran her hands over the soft wool.

“Good. What you have might do for early fall or late spring, but you’d be in real danger if you expected that to last you through the winter.”

He would have said more, but she cut in, “That’s probably true, but that doesn’t make me magically able to afford something so luxurious. I’ll have to make due with buying something from the thrift store.”

Gold’s mouth quirked upward in an unsatisfied half-smirk, “Merry Christmas early, then. I have noticed that you celebrate.”

Blue eyes darted up to his and she blushed. “I’d have been able to pay you for this coat had I purchased fewer lawn ornaments, you mean.”

He sighed, “Not what I intended, no, but now that you point it out I suppose that could be true.” He gave her a smile to take the sting out of it and let her know he was teasing. “You probably thought you’d covered your bases with what you had, coming from Australia, you said?” She nodded, “You’d only have an academic appreciation for what cold really means. Unlike my old Scottish bones.”

“Doubly charitable, Mr. Gold. Thank you then, you’ve saved me from myself.” He smile didn’t last though and she seemed to deflate only a moment after it appeared.

“What is it?”

“I guess it’s a bit much, though. Someone went to the trouble of ensuring I got a copy of the city ordinance regarding noise, underlined, highlighted and circled, just to be sure I got the message. As if I’m not a member of the city council. New I know, but still.” He was grateful her eyes were on the floor.

“Oh, well, maybe you have cranky and elderly neighbors with no sense of holiday fun.” Gold felt like he’d just stomped a daffodil under his heel, now that he thought about his actions of the previous night. He murmured, “But why so many? So much? I mean, lots of people love Christmas, get into the spirit of things, but you’re risking blowing out the electrical in that old house and I hear your landlord’s a right crotchety arse.”

“I’m afraid of the dark.”

He couldn’t have heard her right, but she was looking right at him. Lamely he said, “Oh, uh-”

But she saved him any further trouble, “Not really, of course, but I’m not used to the gloomy weather, the cold, the lack of close friends and family all around. I had to do something, needed people to come home to and it was all I could think of, in a pinch.”

He watched her eyes and only realized once his hands were rubbing her arms gently that he’d reached out to her. But she hadn’t pulled away. He murmured, “I come home to a dark house too, Miss French. It is daunting, day after day, especially this time of year.”

She smiled tremulously up at him. “Yes it is. Look, uh, thank you for the tea and definitely for the coat. I still can’t believe you did that. But I need to get back to the library, so much to do, and I’m on the clock so...”

She trailed off and he realized she was telling him to let go of her. He hastily did so and took a step backward, “Yes, of course. And you’re most welcome. I hope it keeps you warm.”

Mentally he added: since I can’t.

Stray thoughts could be such a bother at times.

“Oh, it already is. Thank you again, Mr. Gold. See you around!” And she was gone leaving half-drunk tea and some stilton crumbles behind. 

***

He saw her again a week later at the city council meeting. Since their tea together, the sound of the accursed snowmen’s song had been conspicuously absent from their street. That had been a pleasant relief the first night. But when, several nights later, he noticed that there seemed to be fewer elves and that the jiggling Santa was also gone, he began to worry.

She sat too far from him at the table for him to murmur pleasantries to her during the meeting and she dashed out the door in a blur of grey wool as soon as it was over. Gold had the distinct impression that he should find the time to visit her in the library sooner than later.

But first he had to deal with the infernal secret gift exchange the mayor inflicted on the council each and every year, without fail, no matter how much he complained and threatened to not participate, even if assigned. She always included him and he had always participated because she always gave him herself. Random draw it might have been for everyone else, but not for him.

At first he had resented this pattern, once detected, but then he realized that Regina was doing it for one very simple reason. Everyone else seemed to enjoy the little ritual and if he made good on his threat not to participate, someone was going to get screwed. So she chose that someone to be herself. And that was why he had never managed to extricate himself from this nonsense. Regina was rubbing his nose in the fact that she was loudly and obviously managing him into doing the right thing by doing the right thing herself. He resented this.

But he did, unfailingly, furnish her with a fresh bottle of excellent Scotch each and every year.

Others had complained, upon having quickly realized the game was rigged, at least for Gold and Regina, that if Gold could be counted on for a bottle of Scotch, Regina should share him around to the rest of them. She had declined with a laugh. Mayor’s privilege. 

It had not escaped his notice that Belle’s desolate countenance had brightened just a little bit at the unexpected, to her, announcement that the secret gift exchange assignments were included in the packets this meeting.

He thought on that little insight during his drive home.

He hadn’t looked at his assignment when everyone else had, why bother after all. But a little spark of hope bloomed in his chest at the thought of Belle’s name being on his slip of paper. It could happen. She was new and the Mayor could decide that she had trained him well enough, made her point, and decided he could be released back into the general populace on good behavior after all.

It was possible. And he wanted it.

The thought made him feel warm inside and thoughts of what Belle might like occupied him all the way to the dining room table where he lay the packet of paperwork down and sought out the sealed envelope.

Regina Mills.

He dropped the paper and it fluttered to the floor.

He left it to lay there for his maid.

Maybe this was the year he finally made good on his threat not to participate. But then, if he did, he would never in the future have the chance ever if getting Belle French in his envelope. He couldn’t take that risk.

Gold tried not to think to closely on why his chest was tight and why he’d started doing the dishes instead of making dinner.

Instead he thought of why she’d rushed from the meeting, of what she’d said of being afraid of the dark, of the disappearing lawn regalia. He might be ok as a loner in this town, but she wasn’t. The insular social structure was slowly killing her, his daffodil.

An hour and a half later he pulled the last of the oatmeal cookies from the oven and put them still warm into an antique festive tin. Then he wrapped the tin in a towel and found his way to her doorstep. He rang the doorbell and waited.

Sunken and shadowed eyes peered up at him from a tiny form wrapped in a thick bathrobe underneath of which protruded extremely fuzzy pink bunny slippers.

“Good evening, Miss French. I hope I’m not intruding. Are you feeling well?” All of that came out in a bit of a rush. Why was he so fumbly around her?

“Oh, Mr. Gold. Come in.” She stepped backward into her dark house and flicked on a light as she walked past the switch.

The place was untidy verging on genuinely dirty. This didn’t match what he knew of the woman’s typical careful coiffeur and neat dressing habits. Of course, neither did the rumbled bathrobe.

She moved a few stacks of books so he could sit down at her clearly second hand table which had previously only had a small square of open space occupied by a dirty plate crusted with dried food.

“Sorry about the state of things, ever since that person told me they didn’t like my decorations, I haven’t felt like bothering. Would you want tea if I made some?” She was staring at him from a face which lacked the energy to emote.

His typical sensibilities told him to decline, there wasn’t a clean cup in that kitchen he suspected, but his mouth had other ideas. “I would, actually.”

He followed her into her kitchen with the tin and wedged it onto the dirty-dish piled countertop. He looked around and then back at her. She was staring at the floor, shame suffusing her features.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I’m sure you have better tea at home.” She mumbled this to her fuzzy feet.

Gold’s heart was pounding in his chest, shouting at him so loudly even he couldn’t avoid hearing it. “I think I came by at just the right time. I’m really quite domestic and it looks like your hired help picked the wrong week to quit. I’ll send Mrs. Potts over in the morning, but for now, why don’t you open that and see if you find anything in there.”

He gestured at the tin and she followed his gaze, then glanced back at him with watery eyes.

“Go on.” He whispered.

She did. He was pleased to see a bit of steam rising from the tin in the cold house and even more so to see her eyes flick closed for a second as she inhaled. Her face wrinkled up as if about to cry but her hand jetted inside the tin and then she sank her teeth into a chewy cookie. He saw her eyes close as she chewed. He heard the tiny exhale. Relief he thought, eating a cookie had caused her to feel relief.

Not wanting to get caught watching her, he hastily turned away and shed his suit jacket. In a matter of moments he had his sleeves rolled up and his hands full of soapy dishes.

Gold didn’t say anything while he methodically filled her dishwasher and then her drying rack as full as both would go. How did she even have so many dishes, having just moved here? Somehow she did though. No matter, as long as he was busy he could not look at the tear streaked face being stuffed with cookies while he worked.

But he did run out of dishes eventually and he set about adjusting his sleeve garters, rolling his cuffs back into place and reinstalling his cuff links. His suit jacket he retrieved from the back of a chair and at that point he couldn’t avoid looking at her anymore.

When there eyes met, she whispered, “Why?”

Caught out and feeling guilty he said, “Because the noise kept me awake and I’ve been a jerk so long I’d forgotten how to be anything else.”

Her mouth dropped open and her current half-eaten cookie fell to the floor with a soft thump. “It was you? But you, I don’t understand.” She flippantly gestured around her now much cleaner kitchen.

“I,” he stopped himself, “no, no, I did mean to make you feel bad because that’s what I do. That’s what I’ve always done so people will leave me alone. I run this town through the rental market, so no one has the nerve to bother me. It’s easier that way, you see. I’m sorry.” He licked his lips, not sure what else to say.

Belle shook her head, trying to make sense of his behavior. “But the next day you invited me to tea, gave me a coat. You were the only real interaction with another human I had, the whole week! Until the council meeting actually, if that even counts as human interaction. If you were so angry as to stuff a nasty gram under my door in the middle of the night, why play nice the next day? And what are you doing here now?”

“Uh.” He blinked hard and several times. “Um. Maybe I wanted something different, I don’t know. I saw you there in the library, way too cold and sad and, oh I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll go if you want.”

“You pitied me. Great. Is that what all of this is about too? Pity?” Now he’d made her mad, perfect.

He was about to leave when his mouth started going again without his brain, “Yes. Tonight was about pity, but not for you. I was pitying myself because I didn’t get who I wanted in the gift exchange. I’m not a very good person, maybe not very good at being a person, can’t tell the difference anymore anyway. Enjoy the cookies.”

He was halfway back down the entry hall on his way out when she caught up to him, “Wait. You didn’t get who you wanted for the gift exchange?”

“No, I didn’t. You? Did you get who you were hoping for?” He had his back to her still, deliberately not turning around.

She whispered, “No, I didn’t either.”

“Too bad for both of us, I guess.” He started walking again.

“Mr. Gold?”

He stopped again, hand on the doorknob, “Yes?”

“Thanks. For the cookies and, and for stopping by.”

He jerked a nod and stepped back out into the cold.

Back in his house and in front of a hot fire he ground the heel of his hand into his eye. He had no idea what he thought he was doing with her. He was a nasty, bitter old man suddenly desperate for a spring daffodil. This was the winter of his life, his frost would kill any such tender flower and she deserved much better than to spend any more time in winter than she had to.

His eyes flicked to the corner where his spinning wheel sat. He had thirty pounds of washed wool just waiting for him. He could ply the yarn with something softer, mohair perhaps.

Before he the plan had fully formed in his head, he had placed the wheel before the fire and begun to spin industriously. He spun all night. Thinking. Planning. He didn’t have a lot of time.

***

No one cared, or probably even noticed, that the shop remained closed the next day. An hour or so past dawn, Gold succumbed to a few hours of sleep before getting up to spin again. And he spun all day. Thankfully he had the dye he needed on hand and in relatively short order, he was ready to execute his plan.

The sheer volume of his industry should have exhausted him, but he had never felt more focused in his life. 

It had been easy to send Mrs. Potts next door with a key to Belle’s place when she had arrived and to quietly pay her a bonus when she returned to his home to stow the cleaning supplies that evening looking a bit frazzled and tired. She didn’t ask any questions though. Good help was worth paying well and Mrs. Potts got paid very well.

Thus, with his particular plans in mind, all that was left to do was execute. And he had always loved fiber art. The click of his needles and the rich feel of the natural animal products he used soothed his mind as did his thoughts of Belle.

That evening he waited for her arrival at home before making the short drive to the library drop box where he left a deposit.

He slept soundly that evening.

With a light heart, he left his blinds cracked open so he could watch the library across the street. He stood in the shadows with his binoculars with absolutely no shame whatsoever waiting for her to arrive.

She was late, somewhat disheveled in spite of the elegant coat and wore a frown like a permanent stain on her face. It hurt him to see that. With a foot tapping in irritation, he watched her putter about for an hour, wasting time as near as he could tell, before laboriously shoving a cart full of books toward the stacks out of sight.

With an exasperated sigh, he dropped the binoculars. He couldn’t stand there all day. Could he?

Yes he could. Nearly anyway. He took the chance while she was out of sight to relieve himself and then rushed back to his vantage point. A very stiff and sore hour passed before she finally came back into view.

And rewarded his efforts.

He could see her face in profile when she opened the book return and retrieved the package. He’d made a tag on the computer so she wouldn’t have handwriting to go off of. No sense in spoiling things.

She didn’t open it right then, but fingered the package, squeezed it gently, and caressed the shiny bow with a delicate finger. Only then did she smile a little. A fire started in his chest the moment she did that. He couldn’t think about why making her happy was so very important to him right then, he had to focus on what she would do next.

Belle hopped up on the circulation desk and turned the package over and over in her hands. No square inch of the colorful paper went unexamined. She even poked at the tape without attempting to open the seams. The card she turned flipped about several times. She even sniffed the package. In more than one place, apparently to be sure.

Lastly, she hugged it to her. Unopened and unrevealed, she hugged it. He could see her crying from here. Who did she hope it was from? Insecurity stabbed him viciously, but he shoved it away as he watched her rock gently back and forth around the package she was hugging.

After what seemed like an eternity, she wiped at her eyes and with trembling fingers began prying the tape up from the paper one strip at a time, not peaking inside. She started with the ends and then came to the central strip of tape which would, once she lifted it away, bare the contents to her eyes.

With a small smile and little savoring hesitation more, she worked the last piece of tape loose and lifted the paper away from the layer of tissue paper beneath. That discovery garnered a bigger smile which Gold shared privately. The sprig of dried lavender he had included just under the wrapping paper had had its desired effect as she brought it to her nose and closed her eyes. Her face brightened and for a moment, summer bloomed in the depths of winter.

At last she set the lavender gingerly aside and, with an expression of cautious optimism, she made quicker work of the tape holding the tissue paper in place so she could hold his gift in her hands.

It worked. Belle gave his gift a full smile with teeth and everything. Her hands dug into its softness immediately and she pressed it to her cheek. He knew how soft it was having adjusted the blend to be just right for durability and comfort. Then she bit her lip with childlike glee and put it on her head with evident satisfaction. It fit.

Gold heaved a sigh. He had had to guess of course, but yarn had enough give to be a forgiving medium. It fit and it suited her. Especially with that smile.

The hat he had knitted to resemble a spring sky with streaky clouds. Her eyes had inspired his choice of dyes for the blue yarn and the natural ivory of the wool had been the clouds. But his greatest joy in this project had been fabricating the daffodil to go in place of the typical yarn poof at the top of the hat. It was kind of silly. But cute silly rather than ridiculous silly. And by the way she wobbled her head to get it to flop about, she clearly thought it was fun.

Abruptly she snatched it off her head, mussing her hair, and buried a laughing face in its softness.

This was success.

He came away from the window feeling lighter and definitely affirmed in his purpose.

***

Regina got her two-hundred dollar bottle of Scotch, but it was only one of the crate he normally ordered so he hardly put much thought into it, as usual.

But in the intervening time, he had made and delivered a lovely scarf in the same motif to go with Belle’s hat with similar effect. And she had been smiling around town since the hat. He had bothered to follow her, discretely and not at all like a creep, to the diner at lunch just to see how others would react to his fabrication.

As he had hoped, it was a conversation starter and unlike her usual lunches alone- he knew because he had happened upon her in the diner at lunch more than once before- she sat at the counter chatting with Ruby over her burger and fries. Something deep and tight release in his chest and Gold felt certain he was doing the right thing for the first time since he could remember.

Now, at the council Christmas party, a usually horrifically obligatory function he couldn’t wait to leave, Gold was looking forward to having an excuse to be in the same room with Belle.

But she never seemed to be talking to him though, in fact she seemed not to meet his eyes when he tried to catch hers and approach. After several such attempts, Gold sat down in the mayor’s immaculate living room with everyone else not beside Belle as he had hoped, but in his usual rocking chair alone. Far from sharing a cozy couch with the others.

Everyone had their wrapped gifts with them waiting to present them to their recipients. It was a dull affair, as usual. Fake smiles, fake gratitude, fake enthusiasm over the lackluster imagination of the gift-giver. Sickening, start to finish. Regina’s pleased smirk at the expensive Scotch she already knew she was getting was probably the only genuine emotion, aside from his own boredom, to grace the group.

Until he caught sight of Belle’s eyes roaming the opened gifts with an air of confused disappointment. He smothered the tiny smile that tried to quirk his lip upward. She had thought the knitted gifts had sprung from this occasion. Excellent. He could, if he didn’t trip up, keep the mystery alive a bit longer. His most recent project would take longer to finish than the previous two combined, but he thought it would be well worth it. He had until Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve, eve, if he was wanting to be safe and ensure she found it in time.

As the party dispersed into booze, snacking and horrendous small talk, Gold sought out Belle. After the gift exchange, he found it much less difficult. She was plowing through a cheese plate like if she kept eating it she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.

He leaned against the wall next to her, “We can get that wrapped up to go if you like. I wanted to offer you a ride home as I’m headed in that direction.”

“Mr. Gold!” She choked a bit on her cracker. “You startled me. It is good cheese.”

She looked decidedly like she’d been caught out. He supposed she had at that. “Both offers wear genuine, Regina doesn’t need the rest of this and everyone else can do without. You haven’t seemed to want to mingle over much this evening, so I’m offering you an escape.” Then he added without thinking, “Tea at my place? Or some of that Scotch? I have the rest of the crate.”

He finally, after weeks of wanting it, had her attention again. He did need to apologize, with words, for the nastiness surrounding her lawn decorations and he hoped that would mend things between them. Or thaw things between them at least.

She was silent so long he feared she’d turn him down until she said, “You really think we can get away with the cheese?”

“I know it. Stay here, guard it, and don’t move.” Gold smiled conspiratorially at her and ducked between two posturing guests toward the kitchen. He knew were everything was, having helped out with this even too many times, so he returned to Belle’s side with a ziplock baggie in no time. Then he maneuvered the still sizable remainder of the cheese wheel in and zipped it shut. He tucked it under his suit jacket, smiled mischievously at Belle and jerked his head toward the entry.

In no time they were out in the frosty night air. He got her settled in the passenger seat and headed for home. On the back seat lay yet another wine opener and some holiday themed dish towels Belle had received, maybe she’d like the cork screw as well. He asked her as much.

“Oh, actually, that is something I haven’t procured yet since the move. I imagine you are well equipped already?” Then she choked for some reason, and a glance at her revealed a perfectly scarlet face.

Why was she-

Oh. Right.

“Yes, I’m quite well equipped, naturally.” Why let that slide when he could enjoy it a little more?

“That’s wonderful, Mr. Gold, maybe you’d like to show me? If it’s something special?” How had she just said that so levelly?

It was his turn to flush and also to stir below his belt. His mouth was moving along with other parts, “Anytime you like, Miss French.”

With this he looked sideways at her deliberately as he stopped at a stop sign. He let her see his tiny grin. To his surprise she smiled back at him.

Oh!

That was an interesting development. Tea and/or Scotch with Miss French just became a lot more interesting of a prospect.

With the kettle on and whiskey poured, Gold laid and lit a fire for them to enjoy before retreating to fetch the tea things. He was not entirely sure how this evening had transpired, but he intended to make the most of it.

He had taken her coat, hat and scarf in the entry way and made certain to comment on the uniqueness of the knitted pieces. She had smiled at him and told him they were her favorites.

Heat had rushed all over at her words and it was everything he could do not to flush. If he turned red, the game was up. He had apparently managed to keep cool about it.

At last, with the tea steeping in the cozied teapot and some cookies on a plate between them, he settled down into the other armchair opposite the fire and beside his guest.

She started in at once, “What made you so eager to leave the party, Mr. Gold?”

“Why, I hate parties of course. And judging by your own hastiness to accept my offer, you do too.” He sipped his own, quite excellent indeed, Scotch.

“I definitely do. Would be easier to meet people if I did as well with small talk as I do with expensive brie.” Her smile was positively disarming.

“You’re doing fine with me,” he remarked not daring to look at her in favor of the fire.

“You’re a co-conspirator in cheese-theft. That makes you instantly easier to talk to than anyone else there.”

At that he couldn’t resist a peak at her face, a mischievous little grin flirted with her lips and her blue eyes sparkled in the firelight. “Aye, that makes sense. After all, anyone willing to execute a heist from Regina’s lair has instant points in their favor as far as I am concerned.”

They were quiet for a while, sipping. Having her there felt right, almost like she’d always been there, next to him by the fire. He wondered if he could convince her to spend more time likewise, or even if he should make such an effort.

“Mr. Gold?”

“Yes?” His voice sounded drowsy even to him.

“Why did you invite me here?” Of course she’d ask him that.

He needed to make up something. Quick. Because “Move in with me, I want you,” wasn’t the correct response. His own acknowledgement of that had him reeling with it’s newness.

He said instead, “I wanted to apologize, good Scotch seemed a place to start.”

“Apologize?” She hesitated only a moment before saying, “Are you working up to it then?”

He gave her a small smile and met her gaze out of the corner of his eye before looking back at the fire and sighing. “I was very tired when I came home to find that your snowmen were going to serenade me all night long. But that’s really only an excuse. The truth is that I’m just me and I didn’t care at all what they meant to you. So, I apologize for not taking that into account with my behavior.”

Belle nodded and returned her attention to the fire before replying, “Thank you for that. For my part, I didn’t realize they were really that loud or that they would disturb my neighbors. I didn’t take into account your feelings either.”

“You could send me a nasty note about it if you like, to balance the ledger.” He darted a look at her face out of the corner of his eye.

“Nah, I can’t afford the whiskey bill that comes with that privilege. So I’ll just drink this, enjoy it, and consider the matter closed. If that works for you.”

Gold sighed with contentment, “It does.”

Belle was clearly intelligent and charming. He wanted to know her better. Wanted her in his life. How to make that happen?

***

He finished her sweater several days before Christmas, ahead of schedule due to motivated industriousness.

This time when she opened the book drop it wasn’t just a little smirk and what appeared to be a giggle as with the scarf. No. Upon seeing the package, she all but launched herself into the bin to retrieve it. Instantly she put it to her nose, smiling brightly.

Then she twirled in a circle clutching it to her chest. And she hadn’t even opened it yet.

Gold was laughing behind his binoculars when she stamped her feet in a little dance. He did worry for her lower lip which she clamped between her teeth. If she bit it clean off, he was going to feel tremendously guilty. But she was fully engaged with carefully untaping each and every join on the package before moving on to the tissue beneath. The lavender sprig she paused over again, savoring its scent, before setting to the remaining taped tissue paper.

He had worked the daffodil motif around the collar and cuffs of a gradient blue to white wool color scheme. It should go nicely with her hat and scarf. He had had to guess at her measurements but as she pulled it on, clearly he had been close enough. The style itself was fairly forgiving, a bathrobe by any other name is still a bathrobe. But being wrapped up in wool counted among life’s lovelier pleasures so he had been forced to concede the practicalities of such a comforting style. The other consideration had of course been that this style would be functional for her with the shirt and blouse combination she favored.

She was hugging the sweater around herself and smiling. Then she stopped smiling and Gold’s heart skittered to a halt until she began searching the pockets, the packaging, the floor, the book drop, and finally, taking off the sweater to search every seam as if seeking a tag or hidden anything.

His chest felt warm and his pulse roared in his ears. She wanted to know, was desperate to know who was sending her these gifts. He hadn’t even included a tag with this gift or the previous because the identical wrappings were enough for her to know the sender was the same person and that they were for her. As if the gifts themselves were not.

Maybe he should have felt more guilty than he did when, upon finding nothing, she pulled the sweater back on and wrapped her arms around herself with a frown, but he couldn’t dredge up the feeling successfully. All he really wanted to do was go into the back room of his shop and get back to work on her blanket. That was going to take him a good long while. And it needed to be just right because this was likely to be the only piece of him she ever took to bed with her.

And that thought sent his eyebrows to his hairline. Quite inappropriate.

He dropped the binoculars and hastened to the back room and a spinning wheel he now kept in the shop. More wool was on order, but he hadn’t finished up this batch yet.

***

At ten o’clock in the morning on Christmas morning, a knock at the door startled him out of his book. The fire was burning, the snowy grey day glowed softly through the window dressings and Gold found himself in his robe and slippers needing to answer his door.

Very unexpected. And somewhat disconcerting, nearly as if he were naked. In fact a triangle of skin showed above the V of his collar. He was naked, at least in part.

He swallowed hard and decided to stand a bit behind the door in an effort to conceal his state of undress as much as possible.

On the other side of the door was Belle. With his tin. Gold abandoned hiding behind the door to smile and welcome her in.

“Miss French! Merry Christmas! Come in, come in.” Not even the chilled air rushing in though the open door could cool the warm rush all over his body at seeing her.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Mr. Gold.” She smiled up at him as he closed the door behind her. “I’m returning your tin and wondered if you might have some tea to go with the contents.”

He had been about to reproach her that the tin was a gift, but he bit that back and accepted the heavy tin with eager anticipation. “Thank you, and yes of course I do. Let me take your coat?”

Gold very much enjoyed handing her out of her winter things because it gave him an excuse to be close to her and to hold something of hers in his hands. He was halfway through getting her coat on its hanger when panic drenched him and he dropped the coat. He snatched it up hoping to cover his realization behind a simple fumble.

A weak laugh and then he turned to her, “Will you excuse me a moment?”

Confused, she nodded.

He dashed into his living room, gathered up his knitting supplies and threw them hastily into a cabinet safely out of sight. Paranoia made him glance around the room for any other evidence he may have forgotten about. There in the corner of the room sat his other spinning wheel. That, he couldn’t shove in a drawer somewhere. But he could remove the bobbin and unspun wool from sight. He did so. If he didn’t draw attention to it, she might never notice it, especially if they had tea in the kitchen.

At that thought though, he realized that she had had every opportunity to see it and comment on it weeks ago after the mayor’s party, but she had said nothing and was still clearly unaware of the source of the mystery gifts. Best to keep it that way, for now at least.

Upon his return to the foyer, he found her smiling impishly. “Don’t want me to see your dust bunnies, Mr. Gold? Come on, you’ve seen mine.”

It was everything he could do not to choke. “Dirty magazines. What else does a lonely old man do on Christmas?”

He had plans to call his son later, but he’d accept a flaming face and embarrassment over what had just exited his mouth over her suspecting the truth.

The diversion appeared to work because she blushed lightly and smiled, “I’m not judging, Mr. Gold, but I do understand. There are drawers of mine I’d rather you didn’t sort through.”

The pink in her cheeks deepened decidedly and Gold felt a flash of intrigue. Biting his tongue kept him from asking after her drawers. Instead he said, “Why don’t we enjoy tea and what ever’s in that tin in the kitchen?”

She followed him easily and sat at a stool opposite the stove while he sorted out the tea.

“Quite aside from my no doubt questionable taste in literature, I’m very glad you’ve come to visit me. My family is far away enough and the relations strained enough to have resulted in another holiday spent with said literature. You are a marked improvement.” While he was on a roll and not at all being awkward or clingy, he decided to go for it. “You’d be welcome to stay for the day if you like. I always cook well on Christmas even if it’s just for me and I assure you there will be plenty.”

At first Gold thought he’d massively overstepped and crossed the line from eccentric to creepy. Then she licked her lips. “You cook? I mean, I knew you baked, but...”

She trailed off eyes roving around the room looking for evidence of something delicious. Perfect.

“Yes I do. Maybe you want to earn your dinner and help me?” He knew he was staring hopefully into her eyes like a foolish puppy, but there was nothing for it.

They cooked together amid her cookies and cups of tea. She gave as good as she got when it came to banter with a crackling wit and a gentle kindness that seldom went together in the same person. Engaging and smart, Belle had enchanted him completely by the time they finished the last of the dinner dishes that evening.

Finally after exchanging a small smile with him she said, “I know you’ve got your dirty magazines in there, but I was hoping for another sit by the fire with that whiskey of yours.”

He felt himself flush. Then he sighed. “Ok, I know you’re curious so I’ll just show you. As a librarian you’ll probably be shocked and never speak to me again, but I clearly can’t take you in there without exposing my... collection. Wait here.”

Her face glowed somewhere between embarrassment and anticipation and she nodded.

If this worked, it would distract her from the spinning wheel, among other antiques in the room after all, and his secret would remain hidden a bit longer.

From behind his back he set Outlander on the counter before her and said, “Dirty magazine.”

She burst out laughing. Peel after peel. She snorted and choked and turned red and tears leaked from her eyes.

Finally she gasped, “I’ve got a whole section for you, Mr. Gold, now that I know your tastes run in this direction. I think you’ve forgotten that I’m a librarian. My whole job is helping people find what they love to read, not judging them for it. Especially when I’ve already read all of these myself. Dirty Scottish porn mag, I should have guessed.” She let loose one last guffaw, and then said, “Are you going to share that whiskey or not?”

They discussed the finer points of Outlander by the fire, with him reading aloud by turns, as they sipped his Scotch late into the night.

***

He had naïvely hoped he could finish her blanket by New Year’s.

But design and complication got the better of him and he found himself finishing it only just shy of Valentine’s Day, of which he wasn’t a fan on principle. That meant he could not and should not give it to her that day. Even though they had shared a great deal of tea and many fireside chats, showing up on that particular day with this gift would be presumptuous.

So, with a herd of flamingos in his stomach all shoving each other for space, he crossed the street early on February twelfth and entered the library. The door closed softly behind him and he scanned the room anxiously for Belle.

Not seeing her immediately, he had his hand poised over the bell on her desk when she appeared.

He couldn’t speak. His mouth was glued shut and as dry as overly salted crackers. That left him staring at her dumbly while her smile faltered and her eyes landed on the package.

Belle abandoned her book cart and made her way slowly over to him, blinking a lot.

Her mouth went through several attempts to form words before he finally got something past his teeth, “I meant to have this done by New Year’s, but I just couldn’t manage it. I never meant for you to have to wait so long.”

With that prize winning eloquence he thrust the large package at her.

She blinked several more times in rapid succession before she reached tentative hands for her gift. He had to nudge it into her hands and he was half afraid she’d drop it because her grip seemed to fail her for a moment.

When she did take it, she set it aside. The horror of rejection had a chance to dig its claws into his belly before he realized what was actually happening.

All of a sudden she was so close and looking up at him, another blink and then she darted forward and-

Oh. Oh, her lips were soft and warm on his. His mouth trembled beneath hers for just a moment before he could respond. And respond he did. Her hair was silky and the back of her head fit so neatly in his hand as he deepened the kiss. She sighed, then he did, and their tongues danced sweetly together. At that, Gold found himself pressed tightly against her with their mutual heat seeping through their layers of clothing.

At last, when they were both out of breath, they parted long enough to look each other in the eyes.

Gold whispered, “I thought for a second you were quite angry with me and you haven’t even seen it yet.”

“Not angry, no. A bit overcome is all. But it’ll pass. Shall we see what my secret admirer has brought me? They did send you instead of revealing themselves, right?” She was grinning at him or he’d have been truly worried.

“So you’d have kissed the messenger each time? What have I been thinking? I should have taken up working for the US Postal Service if this was to be my reward.” He stroked her face.

“No, not really. But I might have kissed you sooner had you revealed yourself sooner. We’ll never know.” With that, Belle snatched up the gift and tore off the paper and tissue in one beat tear to reveal her gift.

It followed the same motif as the rest of the set. A daffodil pattern rimmed the edges of the cable-knit blanket. Though it was mostly blue, he had again used the color of the raw wool to suggest clouds in a springtime sky. It was big enough that she had to drape it over the circulation desk to run her fingers over the details and knead its luxurious thickness like a cat. She put her face in it to smell. He hadn’t forgotten the lavender. Of course not.

After a subjective eternity, he whispered, “Do you like it?”

Leaving one hand in contact with the blanket she turned toward him, “I’m never going to be cold again, am I?”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Not if I can help it.”

And he kissed her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please come visit me on tumblr, same user name, if you're so inclined. Merry Rumbelle Christmas to all and to all a good night!


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